


Cookies

by paperstorm



Series: 12 Days of Stucky Christmas [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Avengers, Gen, Hanukkah, POV Natasha Romanov, POV Outsider, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21893893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperstorm/pseuds/paperstorm
Summary: Part 10 of the 12 Days of Stucky Christmas series. Sam plans Christmas at the Avengers compound.
Series: 12 Days of Stucky Christmas [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559701
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46





	Cookies

_2015_  
  
“It’s Christmas soon!”  
  
Natasha looks up from the tablet in her hands. She’s curled up in a large, plush arm chair in their living room, one leg tucked under her and the other draped over the arm of the chair. Sam is standing before her, in sweats and a green knit cap. Wanda has taken to knitting, to have something to do with her hands and her powers while she’s learning to control them. Throughout the last few months, they’ve all accumulated lopsided hats and uneven scarves and several pairs of imperfect socks. But she’s improving, if Sam’s new hat is any indication.  
  
Natasha nods. “Yeah.”  
  
“Just over a week.” He’s eagerly regarding her, as if he’s expecting a specific reaction, and she only disappoints.  
  
“Yep.” She shrugs, trying to convey she isn’t sure of the point he’s making.  
  
Steve wanders over, having overheard their conversation. He sits in a chair opposite Natasha, across the coffee table. “When I was growing up, a week ‘till Christmas meant two weeks ‘till the bills were due and usually an overdrawn bank account.”  
  
“Wow, Captain Buzzkill is here,” Sam complains. He flops down as well, onto the corner of the sofa.  
  
“I’m really not sure how to make the Depression sound more enjoyable.” Usually everything Steve says is dripping with annoying sincerity but every now and then a bit of attitude creeps in and Natasha appreciates it more than she’ll confess.  
  
As Sam rolls his eyes, Wanda and Vision join them. He sits next to Sam on the couch, and Wanda gracefully lowers herself to the floor, cross-legged with her elbows resting on the wooden coffee table.  
  
“So, am I the only person here who has normal American Christmas childhood memories?” Sam sounds scandalized by the very idea.  
  
“Some of us aren’t American,” Natasha points out.  
  
“Some of us aren’t Christian,” Wanda points out.  
  
“Some of us aren’t technically people,” Vision adds, putting the final nail in their melancholy collective coffin.  
  
Sam cracks up. He slides back in his chair, laughing loudly, his dimpled, gap-toothed smile out in full force. Natasha laughs too, just because his joy is infectious. It always is. They need him, in this new Avengers team she and Steve are attempting to build. The rest of them have a tendency for doom and gloom. They need his ability to light up a room with just a joke or a chuckle or a loving tease.  
  
“Oh man. We are a sorry bunch.”  
  
“We had some lovely Hanukkah traditions, before …”  
  
“Stark Industries leveled your town, and Hydra kidnapped you?” Sam finishes for her.  
  
Wanda presses her lips together. For just a moment, Natasha wonders if he went a shade too far in his teasing, but then Wanda smiles and tucks her long hair behind her ears.  
  
“Yes, that,” Wanda says, laughing herself. There’s still shadows behind her eyes, but they all know Sam is the kindest and most empathetic of any of them, and would never seriously make light of something traumatizing. She’s laughing at herself, at her situation, at the absurdity that is the five of them brought together by insane circumstances, trying to make this thing work even though not one of them is anything close to what a psychologist would call stable or well adjusted.  
  
Vision reaches over to put a hand on her arm, anyway, squeezing lightly.  
  
“Alright.” Sam claps his hands together. He rubs them, and sits back up straighter. “Here’s the thing. Every one of us is fucked in some way, right? Wars, mind-control, torture, losing people we loved, just trauma out the ass.”  
  
Natasha snorts. “An eloquent way to put it, but yeah, I guess so.”  
  
“I’d say that’s a fair assessment,” Steve agrees. He nods solemnly, but he doesn’t look sad. He’s much happier, these days, than he was when Natasha first met him. He’d been so serious, so lost in his own thoughts and memories, burdened by them. Lately he smiles as much as he frowns, and it looks good on him.  
  
“So here’s what I’m proposing,” Sam continues; the air of a grand, formal announcement about him. “Group therapy starts on January 2nd. Until then, we have the biggest, loudest, most festive Christmas-slash-Hanukkah-slash-Winter-Solstice celebration we can manage. I’m talking cheesy movies, I’m talking way too much food, I’m talking alcohol. We’re gonna dance, and laugh, and make each other presents from whatever we can find around here, and be generally merry and jolly and all that jazz. Sound good?”  
  
The rest of them exchange glances, only mulling the idea over for a moment because they all – including Natasha although she’d be the last to admit it – could use a bit of holiday cheer. They’re all here together, away from their homes and their families, found or otherwise. They have to build a new family, if this new initiative has any hope of working like the last one did. Natasha never had Christmas, before the Avengers. It was outlawed in the Soviet Union. Tony Stark’s idea of Christmas was massive, flashy parties at his tower in Manhattan, with celebrities and caterers and top shelf liquor. She didn’t hate that at all, they were a lot of fun, but she imagines Sam’s idea of Christmas is a lot different.  
  
“Could we find a menorah?” Wanda enquires. “Or, make one?”  
  
“Of course we can! And anything else anybody wants to do. Whatever traditions you’ve got, bring ‘em and we’ll make ‘em work.”  
  
“That’s a fantastic idea,” Steve says genuinely. He claps Sam on the shoulder. “I knew we recruited you for a reason.”  
  
“You recruited me because you and Nat accidentally committed treason and I was the only one stupid enough to take you in,” Sam corrects, but his grin is stretched nearly from ear to ear and his dark eyes are sparkling.  
  
“What do we do first?” Vision asks.  
  
“I guess we need to send out for a few things. Some decorations, some booze. Ingredients.”  
  
Steve frowns quizzically at him. “Ingredients?”  
  
“Baked goods are one of the most important parts of Christmas,” Sam tells him, very seriously. “It doesn’t count if there aren’t Christmas cookies. And –” he turns back to Wanda “– is there such a thing as Hanukkah cookies?”  
  
“I don’t know about cookies,” she answers, chewing thoughtfully at a fingernail. “But sufganiyot. If I can find a recipe. I’ve never made them but I remember them. They’re sort of like donuts. With fruit jam inside.”  
  
“I remember these …” Natasha begins the sentence, but then hesitates. For a moment she was swept up in it, in the excitement and in the idea of sharing pieces from their past lives and reclaiming them in this new one. Then, on the precipice of participating, it feels a bit too big. She’s kept her past to herself for so long, only revealing pieces in careful situations after careful consideration.  
  
“What do you remember?”  
  
She looks up. Steve is looking at her, his smile gentle and his eyes understanding. He does understand her. Not to the same extent that other people might experience with their friends, but certainly better than anyone else does, here. She swallows, and continues, “they were sort of like pancakes. But with cheese inside, and raspberries on top. We didn’t have Christmas but we’d eat them on special occasions, when I was little.”  
  
“We’ve got Google, we can find them!” Sam’s response is easy and enthusiastic, like it’ll be no trouble at all. Like scouring the internet for a dish she barely remembers is important to him. So she’s included.  
  
She maintains eye contact with Steve, and he nods reassuringly at her. From anyone else it might seem condescending. From him, it feels welcoming.  
  
“Thanks, Sam,” she says, aiming a smile at him as well.  
  
“Steve?” Sam rounds on him. He already has his phone out, taking notes.  
  
“I don’t really remember a lot of specific foods. We were kinda always poor.” Steve laughs awkwardly, and scratches the back of his neck. “Music, though? A few songs that were … meaningful.”  
  
“Mu…sic,” Sam repeats, as he types it. “That’s even easier, Spotify has everything.”  
  
Natasha doesn’t recognize that word. From the glances exchanged around the circle, neither does anyone else. No one asks.  
  
“Vision, my man, I don’t mean to exclude you, but since you didn’t, uh, exist, until recently …”  
  
Vision waves a hand casually; or, as much as a robot can be casual. “Don’t give it another thought. I’m happy enough to join in.”  
  
“What about you?” Wanda asks Sam.  
  
“Snickerdoodles,” Sam says, with a dreamy smile. “Oh man, I haven’t had one in _years_. Butter, cinnamon, all around sugary deliciousness.”  
  
“Snickerdoodles it is, then.” Wanda tries, and mostly fails, not to laugh at the name.  
  
Sam doesn’t notice. He adds it to his phone, and then leaps up out of his seat and heads off toward the kitchen. “This is gonna be great, guys, you don’t even know. Just wait!” he calls over his shoulder.  
  
Natasha catches Steve’s eye and shares a secret smile with him. He tilts his head to one side and raises his eyebrows, as if to say, _couldn’t hurt, right?_ She nods her agreement, and is glad, for not the first or likely last time, that they found Sam Wilson.  
  
As Wanda and Vision stand up and meander away, Natasha finally releases the tablet from her hands; setting it down onto the table in front of her. To Steve, she muses, “that ball started rolling quickly.”  
  
“He’s essential,” Steve replies. “Don’t you think?”  
  
“Completely,” Natasha agrees. She pauses a moment, considering her next words carefully, and she isn’t referring to Sam when she asks, “d’you miss him?”  
  
Steve inhales slowly, and exhales nosily. His gaze focuses somewhere near his own kneecaps, and Natasha feels halfway badly for bringing it up. But at the same time, maybe they need to talk about it. It’s been over a year.  
  
“Yeah,” Steve answers, eventually. “All the time.”  
  
“You’ll find him,” she tries to reassure. It likely comes off placating and disingenuous.  
  
“Probably. The problem is how to proceed once we do.”  
  
“Could all that stress and worry take a vacation? Since it’s Christmas?”  
  
He licks his lips, and then his eyes find hers again. She tries to convey sincerity; tries not to appear as if she’s mocking Sam for wanting to give them a happy holiday, because she really isn’t.  
  
“Sure,” Steve responds. “Nine days of holiday cheer would do us all some good.”  
  
“Will we have to sneak down on the 24th and hide presents under the tree? Since we’re more-or-less the Mom and Dad of this operation?” Natasha jokes, happy when Steve laughs in response.  
  
“We probably don’t have to. But yes, let’s do that. Foster team morale, or whatever.”  
  
“Or whatever,” she agrees. Steve appears to be content. Warm and fuzzy isn’t her forte and never will be. A happy Steve is a more common occurrence than it was two years ago, but in the grand scheme of things it’s still a bit too rare, and Natasha wants to preserve it for as long as she can.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me [on tumblr](http://paper-storm.tumblr.com/) [or twitter](https://twitter.com/turningthedials) if you want!


End file.
